The Failed Coward Read online

  We returned back here, trucks bottoming out the entire way, enlisted the labor force that had remained behind to unload the trucks, and made the no huddle offense call to go to the garden center. Gilbert wasn’t around to call us idiots, and Gavin and Abby were 100% with the idea, so we grabbed a decent late lunch, and headed out to cross town.

  I’ll be the first person to raise my hand from the corner of the room whilst wearing the dunce cap and say this was not my best idea. Last second plans like these are never, ever bright, and really should only be attempted under dire circumstances. This was a “Hey, we have time, and we should get something cool done” situation, which is not particularly dire.

  The trip across town in the trucks was eerily quiet. I had fully expected to see a lot of undead milling about, but in actuality there were very few. Unnerving. With all our noise it made all the sense in the world that they would be moving across town towards our general direction, but I guess that’s not the case. To me, that means there’s something else making noise, or drawing their attention. More on that later.

  The garden center is set back in a decent sized parking lot. Right next to the land the garden center is on there is a small strip mall with a Chinese restaurant (awesome dumplings), and a few small businesses. There is a check cashing place, a thrift store, etc. We should think about hitting the restaurant soon, I wonder if there are cooking supplies left in there. Or cats. Kitty on stick!

  I’d guess and say the building is perhaps the size of a gymnasium with some extra fat on the sides. It’s big, but not like Kmart or Walmart big. It’s a small town garden center. On one side of the place is an outdoor lawn center type dealio where they stored the trees and shrubs and shit they sold. Some of those were still behind. I guess stealing plants that don’t produce food just wasn’t a high priority for anyone.

  I know, weird, right? I was just thinking campus needed a few hedges. Because hedges are awesome. (Sadly, a hedge might be some serious anti zombie technology. If it was a good, thick hedge, they’d eat shit trying to walk over it, then spend a retarded amount of time trying to right themselves with their asses hung up in the air. File hedges under: to be considered)

  Anyway. The parking lot of the place had an unreasonably large amount of undead in it, which was troubling. It definitely led us all to think that there was some kind of reason for them to be there, and we were correct.

  About a third of the undead were at the double glass doors, banging away trying to get inside. To prevent us from shattering the doors, we parked the trucks at the end of the building on the corner, and started shooting across the front of the place. On the outside chance there were survivors inside, we really wanted to protect the doors.

  As soon as we started unloading at them, the entire crowd wheeled on us, and surged. It was without a doubt a pants wrecking moment. It was almost like they were in unison, hive mind thinking-esque or something. Creepy once again. Recurring theme lately.

  At one point they were getting so close, Gavin and I went cyclic at head level to buy us time to load into the trucks and back away out into the road. Bodies were piling up as we backed away, and once we got out into the road we noticed that there were a few dozen more approaching down the street from both sides. I called for an ammo count, and once we all confirmed that we still had a good amount, we opened up again.

  Sweaty balls Mr. Journal. Sweaty balls. Sphincter tightening to say the least. Abby and Gavin are both nearly deaf tonight, and the only reason why I’m not saying I’m nearly deaf tonight is because I was already nearly deaf going into today. Daily fucking gunfire with no hearing protection will be the death of our eardrums.

  I know I know. I never stop bitching.

  We got inside the garden center by smashing out the glass doors that we tried so hard to not to shoot. Oh, the irony. Someone had locked the double doors, and all the exterior entrances were zipped up tight. Inside, right at the same counter where the young girl barely paid attention to me “that day” was a man with a huge bite mark on his arm, and an obliterated head. There was a double barrel scattergun on the floor between his feet.

  Do the math on what happened there. The blood was still slick and gooey, which meant he’d died damn recently. Not sure on the coagulation rate of human blood, but he couldn’t have been dead for more than a day or two at most.

  Gavin watched the front door and took out the slow stream of stragglers that were headed into our AO. He called them out over the radio as they approached, then smashed in their heads with the halligan. Luckily, once we’d dealt with that fat rush of the dead, the crowd never got overwhelming again. We only had to stop to assist him once, and that was a piece of cake. Maybe eight of them roaming towards us in a small pack. Shoot a few to thin it out, smash the rest of the heads once it’s safer. It’s all about managing threat density with these assholes.

  I’ll make an already ridiculously long story short. The garden center did indeed have fencing materials. They had a dozen or so rolls of waist high chainlink, and the uprights to match. They had fertilizer still, as well as potting soil, more seeds, pots, bird feeders (which Ollie requested, oddly enough), and blah blah blah. They also had more bricks, patio stones, concrete blocks, and farming oriented tools, which we actually didn’t grab, as there’s a small farm nearby, and Ollie hadn’t mentioned needing anything tool oriented. With any luck, we won’t have to return here.

  We took all of what I’ve already mentioned, and then some. Both truck beds were full to the top, and we actually had to use rope to get it secured for the trip home. Good thing too, because we had to evade a rather large scale increase of the zombie population on the roads heading back too. I think the noise that had attracted them away had abated, and our much more interesting noise had lured them in our general direction.

  Noise is like Zombie-pong. Zombie in the middle. Or maybe even keep away, but we’re living bait.

  I hope Blake is okay. When we were coming back through town I caught the smell of fresh wood smoke, which I haven’t smelled in a very long time in that area. Someone is staying warm with a fire, or their house is burning down. Either way, it strikes me as signs of life where there were none recently.

  Oh, and I also realized while we were loading shit at the garden center that dumpsters might be great barricades or obstacles. One in the middle of a road would do wonders to stop traffic. If we can find a trash truck to pick them up, we could totally line them up to create some serious barrier action.

  I’ll add that to my list of shit to do. Right after I scratch my balls.

  I’m dead. Just flat out exhausted. I just inhaled a half dozen ibuprofen and an allergy pill. My poor fucking liver. Drifting off into the sweet realm of sleep as Otis circles my feet, waiting for me to get finalized on my sleeping position. I’m putting some soft music on to rest to as well. I think tonight I’ll opt for some Frank Sinatra.

  Ole blue eyes can lull me to sleep.

  Peace out Mr. Journal.

  -Adrian

  The Golden Palace

  “Yo bitch get in the car!” Zach hollered out the window of the SUV as he turned down the stereo. The thumping bass beat of Kanye’s latest hit was far too loud, even for his 20 year old, rap damaged ears. The late afternoon heat of June was almost enough to make him roll up the windows of the big black truck. That wasn’t going to happen though, there were far too many people around that might hear his stereo, too loud or not, and the air conditioning would cock block that from happening. Pimps gotta roll strong, as Zach often said to anyone who would listen.

  Zach’s friend Ryan grinned ear to ear and hiked up his drooping pants as he jogged across the lawn to the car. He caught himself at the dead last moment before they dropped too low and sent him sprawling. The pimp’s uniform was dangerous to those uninitiated to its secret ways. If the pants were too high, you weren’t gangsta enough. Too low, and you ran the risk of falling on your face. Ryan covered his pasty white ass with his three sizes too large jeans and shuffled a
round the big 4x4 and hopped in.

  Zach leaned back in an exaggerated gangsta pose and bumped knuckles with his longtime homeboy. They’d been “running the streets” here in town for almost nine months, which is as close to a lifetime friendship as these two would ever get.

  “Sup bitch?” Ryan asked as he slammed the door of the truck and reclined the seat so far it was practically horizontal. He adjusted his cock eyed Atlanta Falcons hat so it was slightly more off center, and crossed his arms. He had never even been to Atlanta. Or watched a Falcons game.

  “Chinese food yo.” Zach slid the shifter into reverse and the truck lurched backwards like a drunk elephant. Zach’s primary source of driving instruction was Steven Seagal movies and the Fast and the Furious franchise. He was a public menace on the streets, and his parent’s insurance bill was the bleeding truth of it.

  “Awwww shit. Golden Palace in da HOUSE!” Ryan laughed in his tinny way and fished a small pipe from his enormous jean pockets. He proceeded to pack the bowl for the two of them as Zach put the truck into drive and sped off, leaving the echo of screeching tires, and a wake of black skid marks behind them.

  Kanye’s music made a thumping reappearance as the two boys began their trip to the home of the world’s greatest Peking Dumplings.

  *****

  Baked is the term. Stoned also applies, as does blazed, toe-up, lit, and many, many more clever phrases. Zach and Ryan pulled into the parking lot of the small strip mall The Golden Palace was located in, barely able to park the truck. Zach’s best effort resulted in half the truck’s tires sitting inside the handicapped parking spot at the front of the lot. In all honesty, this wasn’t that far from what he could’ve achieved while straight up sober.

  The two young men, one twenty, one nineteen, fell out of the large SUV giggling and goofing on one another. As they started to walk from the truck, Zach’s phone “blew up” with the sounds of DMX warning those listening that he was about to “act a fool up in here.” Zach stopped and leaned on the hood of the car and attempted to clear his head to do business. The Kush he and Ryan had just smoked was the good shit, and it gave him a high that felt more like he’d taken a handful of Klonopin. Which incidentally he could procure for someone on short order if needed.

  “Z-Mac here what up foo?” Zach asked the caller.

  “Hi Zach, it’s Kimmy, are you busy?” Kimmy was clearly worried about something.

  Zach was stoned, and an emotional moron. He did not pick up on that fact. “Yeah I’m getting food girl. You need a bag or something? Wanna get cross faded later or sumpin?” Zach leaned heavily on the front grill of the truck as Ryan rolled his eyes at him. Bitches always got in the way.

  “Um, no. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You’re okay right?” Kimmy was clearly distressed.

  Zach was irritated, and an asshole. “Yo bitch I’m not okay, I’m fiiiiiine.” He and Ryan burst into their stereotypical stoner laughter over one of thug history’s lamest jokes.

  “Well, my family is leaving to go north to our summer home on the lake because of all the stuff that’s happening, and what the news is showing. We’re leaving now. I just wanted to see if you would come?” Kimmy’s tone could not have conveyed more worry. She was nearly crying and her voice cracked multiple times.

  Zach was mentally handicapped. “What shit on the news yo? DEA up in town? MS13 running up on my shit again? Is Zachary McDonald gonna hafta bus a cap in someone AGAIN!?” His demeanor shifted from pleasantly stoned moron to posturing wannabe tough guy moron. He hiked up the front of his wife beater shirt in typical gangsta fashion, revealing where a pistol should have been, were he actually a gangsta, and not just a small town drug dealer that had a trust fund from his grampy who was a stock broker from Greenwich.

  Kimmy’s voice finally cracked entirely, and she let slip a small sob. Kimmy had been dealing with a little bit of a crush on Zach since he was a senior twice. She’d always bought his weed not because it was the best in town, but because she was secretly hoping one day he’d fall in love with her. She could change him, she knew it. Now it might be too late for that.

  “Oh Zach, there are people dying EVERYWHERE. Crazy people biting each other, and soldiers in the streets, and martial law in the cities and everything, it’s so scary and I just don’t want you to get hurt… My mom and dad say you can come with us north. There’s room for you and everything. Please go? Please?” She sold it with every ounce of her being.

  By that point Zach had put the call on speaker and the two assholes hovered over it, listening anxiously. When she finished, the two small time crooks looked up at each other, and burst out in snorting belly laughter.

  “Hah hoe! We ain’t scurred of nuffin! Bring da soldiers on! We be selling them chronic too muthafuckas!” Ryan attempted in his best possible fashion to sound as intimidating as possible. Ryan and Zach exchanged a blown up brofist in celebration. From the curb twenty feet away a middle aged lady pushing a baby cart choked down a retch at their lunacy.

  “Yeah yo Kimmy, We be fine. Gonna get us some dumplings, and some Lo Mein and shit, and head back to the crib and get blazed all night you know? We got like Call of Duty and shit to do. Y’all have fun and shit at the lake and stuff baby.” That’s how Zach always did it. Sealed the deal with the baby. Sophomores always fell for the “baby.”

  Kimmy choked back some tears, “Okay, be safe, don’t let them bite you.”

  Zach and Ryan snorted at her idiocy.

  “Yeah you too yo. See you on Friday and shit, party at my apartment yo.” Zach blew her a wet sounding kiss and hung up on her.

  “Bitches yo,” Ryan said sadly.

  “Yeah yo. Bitches.”

  *****

  “Ho Kim muthafuckah!” Zach threw up some random mishmash of fingers at the Asian man behind the counter in an attempt at forming some strange east coast/west coast gang sign. The middle aged man shook his head in disgust.

  “My name is Alan, thanks. What can I get for you two gentlemen today?” Alan grabbed the small order pad and a pen off the glass countertop. He perked an eyebrow in anticipation of the two idiots’ order.

  Zach and Ryan leaned in close to one another, nearly smacking their temples into one another. In hushed tones they pointed at the menu mounted on the wall above Alan’s head. After nearly five minutes of heated debate, Zach stepped forward to place the order. “Alright yo, I need two orders of dumplings, two house style Lo Meins, one Szechhuan chicken, an order of crab rangoons, an orange chicken, two egg rolls, a pork fried rice, and some of that stuff I used to eat all the time back in the day… you know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout right son?” Zach winked at the man taking his order as he handed him the cash for the food.

  “Lead paint chips?” Alan said flatly back to him as he took the cash.

  “Naw man, pussy! Ain’t you seen that movie?” Zach and Ryan busted out laughing yet again. Another epic brofist signaled the importance of the joke.

  Alan stared at them. After a long moment of awkward silence, he ripped the order off, handed Zach his change, and walked away to the kitchen to give it to the cooks.

  “How about a scorpion bowl while we wait!?” Ryan hollered out to him.

  “Nope,” Alan said, not missing a beat. He walked through the swinging double doors and into the kitchen.

  “It’s assholes like him that made us invade Toshiba. My grandfather died there putting that famous flag up. He died for our freedom man.” Zach shook his head in disgust.

  Ryan nodded solemnly in agreement, and the two men sat down alone in the restaurant to watch the news on the television mounted on the wall.

  *****

  Fifteen minutes of blank, drug inhibited stares at the news channel led to the two men not realizing that the world was crumbling outside.

  Zach did manage to point out that the news woman had “fly tits” three times, which does indicate that he was capable of noticing some things. Ryan was only able to point out how “sick” the special effects wer
e on that movie trailer.

  The movie trailer he was referring to was actually the live footage from Athens Greece earlier that day. A security camera mounted on a building near the Greek capital caught video of a few dozen men running at top speed through traffic in the congested city. The small European cars darted to and fro, trying to miss the panicked men as they ran for their life from an unseen menace.

  Moments into the grainy, black and white footage more shambling figures came into the frame, reaching out blindly, staggering directly into the path of the frantic vehicles. The camera caught a vaguely feral expression on their darkly stained faces. Ryan pointed out that they looked like; “those old school zombies from that movie yo.”

  One small car couldn’t make a swerve in time, and took one of the shambling zombies out at the knees, sending it up and over the hood, then straight through the windshield. The tiny car veered directly into the door of another car, smashing it sideways and into a row of parked vehicles.

  The newswoman with “fly tits” informed the watchers capable of paying attention that they were fast forwarding the video a minute or so, where the camera caught unnatural motion inside the crashed vehicles. One of the drivers climbed out of the smashed door and dragged their shattered body slowly back out into the traffic that was attempting to give the crash a wide berth. Another car sped through the accident scene, and with a silent thump, sped over the body of the crawling driver.

  After stopping its dreadful crawling for a moment, impossibly it began to move further, heading directly at the camera, in the direction the men had been running moments earlier.